


World Spins Madly On

by Icka M Chif (mischif)



Category: Disney Duck Universe, PKNA - Paperinik New Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, DT17/Paperinik Crossover, Fluff, Future Fic, I Don't Even Know, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Not Beta Read, Pining, Robot/Human Relationships, Schmoop, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Time Travel, preening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischif/pseuds/Icka%20M%20Chif
Summary: Uno may have lived on and become Odin, but he was still as far outside his reach as the 23rd century was. Donald was just an ordinary duck with a temper, outside of time travel, there was no way for him to meet his dear friend again.Donald opened his eyes, his reflection in the window staring back resolutely.Noscientificway.
Relationships: Donald Duck & Uno | One (Disney: PKNA), Donald Duck/Odin Eidolon, Lyla Lay & Uno | One (Disney: PKNA)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the end of PKNA #43: Time to Time. Fusion with DK17 to account for genre shift.  
> Did a bunch of revisions to the first two chapters when it decided to spawn lots of new chapters. 
> 
> Thanks to [AJtheBlueJay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJtheBlueJay/pseuds/AJtheBlueJay) for talking to us on discord about continuity.  
> 

* * *

I thought of you and where you'd gone  
And the world spins madly on  
-the Weepies 

  


* * *

Odin was Uno. 

Donald felt like the world beneath his feet had suddenly rocked and shifted, nearly sending him to his knees. 

Uno, his best friend, the sentient AI who ruled over Ducklair Tower where Donald had once lived as the the custodian after Uncle Scrooge bought the building. Uno, on the hidden 151st floor, caring for everyone within the tower. Uno had been his Partner in everything from daily life, watching cheesy soaps together to fighting Alien Invasions as the caped duck avenger, Paperinik. 

Uno, who had survived and reformed as a droid over 250 years in the future. Similar, yet different. 

Uno was Odin. 

Odin Eidolon, who upon first learning that Paperinik was in the 23rd century, had forcibly crashed his car into the car Donald was riding in and forcing it to land, just so Odin could meet Paperinik and offer his assistance. 

“It’s a real pleasure to see you, **again**.” Odin had said, upon first meeting and shaking Paperinik’s hand. 

The first time he’d ever been able to shake Donald’s hand. Uno didn’t have a body. 

Odin had known who Paperinik was the whole time. Which explained why Donald had always felt like there was something familiar about Odin, and yet not. The way he’d felt at ease, trusting the stranger in the future from the beginning, based simply on his gut. 

And Odin had paid him back in loyalty time and time again, going above and beyond to help Donald. To save both him, and Lyla. 

Right up until the the microcontraptions created by all of the time travel jumps between their times made chronodimensional jumps impossible. He’d had to leave one of his best friends, Lyla in the future where she’d come from, and return back to Duckburg the 21st century. 

“I would have liked to on with you.” Odin had said as they’d prepared to take the fake chronostablizer to safety shortly after they’d arrived, a strangely sad expression on Odin’s usually smiling face. “On this **last adventure** , Paperink.”

Donald’s last adventure in the future. He’d never put it together before, that Odin had known that Donald wouldn’t be coming back to the future. Instead, he’d returned home in the 21st century against his will, in Lyla’s empty house. He’d gone home to Ducklair Tower, to find it both dark and empty tower. No green glowing orbs, no cheerful sarcastic AI, no Partner. 

Just dead space. 

Then Della had vanished into outer space, he’d had his falling out with Uncle Scrooge, and suddenly he was the sole parent for triplets. He’d had no time for crimefighting, and he’d hung up the mask and cape in exchange for diapers and dirty clothes. 

It’d been hard. He’d gotten used to Uno being there, ready for a quip, a bit of wit, or just a shared eye-roll. He’d never regretted it, his boys were his pride and joy, but he’d still missed Uno. Especially those first years. So many times when he’d felt overwhelmed, he’d wanted to just talk to Uno, get his advice. Or share with him his kids first steps, first words, the crazy things they’d done. 

He thought he’d lost everything connecting him to Uno until he’d remembered the old memory plate that Odin had given to him during his first trip to the future to give to Uno. Fenton and Gyro had been talking about a device that could read any sort of data format, and he’d given it a try. 

He’d hoped to find something to connect to his friend, but finding plans from Odin to Uno, explaining that Uno would eventually become Odin wasn’t it. 

Donald gave a shuttering breath, closing his eyes and he hugged the data plate tight. He missed his partner.

It’d been a decade, and it still felt like an empty hole in his chest, like his brain was constantly scanning for his friend’s presence and not finding it. 

He missed living in his small room in the secret 151st floor of Ducklair Tower, talking and chattering with Uno. The pranks Uno would pull on Donald, like making the elevators go super fast or take ages to get anywhere. Just sitting around watching their favourite show, ‘Anxieties’, leaning against the globe that held Uno’s glowing face as the AI claimed he was watching it for ‘anthropological reasons’.

He missed Lyla too, her cheerful chatter throughout the day as she worked as a news reporter, having her steady back up at night as Papernink. Adventures with time and space, forming a steady partnership with her. 

And poor Lyla, she’d been brought to trial for something that wasn’t her fault, then the Time Police were disbanded, he didn’t know what she was doing after he’d faded back to his time. He hoped Odin continued to helped her out. That she helped Odin too. 

He was worried about them. Donald had never seen much of Odin, a few minutes every few months, but every time he’d seen Odin… Uno in the future, he seemed to age more and more as the battle for droid rights waged on. As more weight and responsibility was put on him. 

Donald wanted to see Uno again. He wanted to see his best friend again, wanted help Odin like how Uno had helped Donald.

To be with the one person he’d felt like he could always have at his back, who he could share anything with. Who cared for Donald in a way he’d never known before, unconditionally and without constraints. 

Donald had thought Uno was dead, and had grieved for him, until Daisy brought Paperinik up. He’d thought he was over that grief, but to find that Uno had been so close, and yet Donald had never realised, brought it all back, just as fresh and raw as it had been a decade ago. 

Uno may have lived on and become Odin, but he was still as far outside his reach as the 23rd century was. Donald was just an ordinary duck with a temper, outside of time travel, there was no way for him to meet his dear friend again. 

Donald opened his eyes, his reflection in the window staring back resolutely. 

No _scientific_ way.

* * *

“Uncle Scrooge?” Donald shifted his weight nervously as he stood in front of the large solid desk in his uncle’s mansion office, hat literally in hand. “I... need a favour.” 

He braced himself for an explosion of temper. Uncle Scrooge didn’t believe in favours, or just handing people things, they needed to earn it through their own sweat and tears. 

Uncle Scrooge set the paper work he’d been reading the side, giving Donald a once over, a grave expression on his face. “What do you need?” He asked, none of the vitriol in his voice that Donald had been expecting. 

He wondered what his uncle had seen in Donald’s face. 

Donald’s hands shook slightly as he his grip on his hat tightened. “I went to the future.” He said in a rush, his words a garbled mess. 

It took a moment for Uncle Scrooge understand what Donald had said, and then his eyes went wide. “Are ye alright?” 

“I’m fine.” Donald nearly laughed. No new scars or permanent injuries. “But… I have a friend. He lived for centuries by himself. And… I don’t want that for him.” His voice trailed off as he spoke, barely more than a heartfelt murmur.

Uncle Scrooge was silent for a long moment, his face a grim mask. He motioned for Donald to approach him. Donald gave him a wary look at first, then shuffled over, so he was standing next to his Uncle’s chair. Scrooge turned his chair and, cradling Donald’s face in his hands, thumbs running over Donald’s cheeks, where the McDuck clan tended to grow fluff, much like Scrooge’s own. 

“A long life is a heavy burden to bear.” Scrooge said quietly, as Donald leaned into his touch, closing his eyes to soak it in. “It means losing everyone around you and having to still go on alone. Are you sure that’s something you want?” 

“I don’t want Uno to have to keep going through that alone.” Donald murmured. “I _can’t_.” 

He had a feeling, what Odin what needed in the future, was a friend. Someone to support him without question for a change. To be there when no one else was. 

Donald wanted to be that person. He wanted to be there for Odin. For Uno. It was a selfish wish, but one he didn’t think his friend would mind. 

His Uncle was silent for a long moment, and Donald began to feel his heart sink in despair. There were other avenues he could explore, but Uncle Scrooge probably knew the best ones. The ones that didn’t result in black magic, or making deals with dangerous deities. 

“Did you know.” Uncle Scrooge said quietly. “That I do believe that this is the first time since you were a child, that you’ve asked for something for yourself?” 

“What?” Donald frowned. He was pretty sure he’d asked for lots of things before. 

“You ask for others, but nae yourself.” Uncle Scrooge shook his head. “Even asking me to watch the lads that first day, it was for their sake, not yours.” 

Technically, Donald had asked Mrs. Beakley to watch the boys, he’d been hoping to avoid Uncle Scrooge entirely. Because he couldn’t leave them unsupervised while he went to the interview. And if he didn’t get a job, he couldn’t feed his kids. 

It had all worked out though. For the better. 

Uncle Scrooge gave a heavy sigh. “I would be lying if I said the thought of having some family with me in the future hadn’t crossed me mind as a comfort.” He confessed. “And you’ve always been both more careful and more reckless than the rest of us.”

As a family, they didn’t talk about how long Uncle Scrooge had lived, or the fact that he hadn’t aged in nearly 100 years, if the paintings and photographs were any indication. Or the fact that Uncle Scrooge was unlikely to ever pass away of old age. 

Before Della had gotten pregnant, Uncle Scrooge had once taken the both of them to the Springs of Immortality. He hadn't needed a map or any instructions to find the way, knowing the passage by heart.

While the springs had been beautiful and the water the clearest he'd ever seen, Donald hadn’t drunk. He’d had no interest in it, not then. Della had, and, well. Look what happened. A decade on the moon. Missing her leg. 

‘Immortality’ didn’t mean ‘impervious’. While the potential to live forever was there, one could still be injured. Or die. 

“Centuries, you said?” Uncle Scrooge looked contemplative. “Did you see me there?”

Donald shook his head, not dislodging his Uncle’s grip. “No.” He'd stared at the advertisements when they'd gone by, but nothing had said McDuck on them. Although the old Manor had stayed. 

Uncle Scrooge hummed thoughtfully. “Had we reached past the Earth by then?”

Donald nodded. Reached for the sky and dealt with alien invaders. 

“Then I imagine that by then I’d have gotten bored of Earth and sought out adventure in the stars.” Uncle Scrooge grinned and patted Donald’s cheek before releasing him. “Look for me there.” 

Donald blinked, it taking a moment to sink in before he realised his uncle had just agreed. “You mean it?” He asked, feeling awestruck. 

“Aye.” Scrooge nodded, a small fond smile on his face. “I imagine there’s a reason why you’re asking me about immortality instead of asking Gyro about Time Travel?”

“Can’t.” Donald confessed. “Too many paradoxes now.” Come to think of it, he wondered if that last trip back hadn’t done something to damage Ducklair Tower, to turn Uno off. 

“Ah. Then you’ll have to take the long way around to meet up with your friend.” Uncle Scrooge’s eyes were glittering with excitement, his mind alight, making plans. “You’ll need to tell me a bit about the future sometime. But right now, we’ve got some research to do first, my boy. And then we’ll go, a wee adventure with just the two of us. It’s been a while since we did that, hasn’t it?”

He didn’t think they’d ever done that, just him and Donald out on an adventure. It’d always been Donald-and-Della exploring with Uncle Scrooge, until Della disappeared. And now there were the kids, all of them exploring in a pack, plus Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad. 

“I’d like that.” Donald admitted. Uncle Scrooge chuckled, pulling Donald in for a hug, and Donald went without hesitation. His uncle wasn’t often one for physical affection, and he’d missed this. 

“We’ll handle immortality first.” Uncle Scrooge said, patting Donald’s back. “Eternal Youth, I think is just the ticket for you. Less creaky joints. And then when you’re ready for the future, we can focus on those details then.” 

Donald nodded, holding his uncle tight, feeling like he could breathe for the first time in a long while.

* * *

It was time. 

It’d been about 40 years since he’d gone on a small adventure with his Uncle and Storkules, drinking the elixir of Eternal Youth. 

The kids were grown up, and since Donald had stopped ageing in his mid-30s, he now was being mistaken more often than not for their younger sibling instead of their Uncle. He’d seen the hatching of their kids, and the hatching of some of _their_ kids. 

Some of them unknowingly following in his footsteps, becoming superheroes as well. Alongside Daisy, he’d seen the rise several generations of heroes now, Gizmoduck, Darkwing Duck, Quiverwing Quack. The first alliance of the Justice Ducks, which continued even now, decades later. 

His not ageing made dating Daisy tricky. About the time she hit her 50s, they’d commented on her being a cougar, and now people commented on what a nice son he was to her. Daisy still laughed it off, but there was a hurt in her eye he didn’t know how to solve. 

She was still as lovely as the day they’d met to him, and they still loved each other, but the fact that she was ageing and he wasn’t was an invisible weight on them both. 

There were other complications too. Having Uncle Scrooge not ageing was one thing, it was almost expected at this point. But having both Donald and Della, three members of McDuck/Duck clan, not growing old it was starting to cause problems. People wanted to know the secret, how they did it, and how they could take it for themselves.

He could probably go for another 30 years, make it a nice 100 years before sleeping, but Uncle Scrooge had been right. Immortality was hard, the realisation that he would watch his kids grow old and then pass away while he remained young weighed heavily on him. 

He was strong, but he was not that strong. 

And now Panchito and Jose were gone. 

And Donald was tired. He’d lived a long, full, busy life, and he just wanted to rest for a while. He had friends waiting for him on the other side of a long nap that he was eager to see. 

And Della was looking towards the sky with stars in her eyes, and he had a feeling Uncle Scrooge was not long to follow. He loved his sister, but she’d always had her eyes to the sky and beyond, saddled with a thirst for adventure and exploration. Donald had been to space, and found he preferred to be on Earth, with his friends and family. He didn’t seek adventure, adventure tended to find him. 

Even becoming Paperinik had been a teenage accident, he’d only meant to prank Uncle Scrooge and the other money bags of Duckburg. 

“Alright, me lad.” Uncle Scrooge said as Donald settled down into the bed tucked inside the plain barren room. “Are you ready?” 

“As I’m going to be.” Donald sighed, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders and wiggling around a bit. He was a touch nervous, there were no guarantees this would work. But that wasn’t enough to make him want to stop. 

Uncle Scrooge nodded. He had the hard job, going back and telling the others that Donald was gone. He’d already told the kids years ago what he planned to do, and had their blessing for it, but they didn’t know it was coming. Or at least he didn’t think so.

Webby could be really tricky, and he’d place bets that she probably knew what they were doing right now. If she wasn’t already somehow watching. 

“Drink this.” Uncle Scrooge handed him a vial. “And when ye wake up again, you’ll be when you need to be.” 

Donald nodded and took it. “You know.” He commented, looking over the vial of Dreamless Sleep, and then swallowing it down in one gulp. It tasted like dust and mint. He made a face, handing the vial back, trying not to choke. “You never explained how I’ll wake up at the proper time.” 

“Oh, there’s nae worry about that.” Uncle Scrooge grinned at him as the potion took nearly immediate effect and his eyelids began to close. “My wee Sleeping Beauty.” 

Donald almost wanted to argue that nickname, but sleep dragged him under, and the last thing he was aware of was his uncle brushing his fingers across his forehead and wishing him sweet dreams, just as he’d done when Donald was a child.

* * *

He dreamt of Uno and Odin, and of kisses.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Odin wrapped his arms tight around himself, head bowed as the last vestiges of his friend vanished into the time stream, back to the 21st century, where he belonged. 

Leaving him alone again. 

It was the only logical conclusion, after all. Even if they all wished it, Donald could not stay in the 23rd century. He had a life and a family waiting for him in his time. A future there in the past. 

It didn’t stop the empty hollow sensation in his chest. He’d always had the reassurance that he’d see his partner again. 

And now that was gone. _Donald_ was gone for good. He had no idea what the future brought, just that he would be completely alone for it, which made it feel bleak in a way he didn’t know how to deal with. 

Lyla fell to her knees, hands covering her beak to muffle her sobs, and Odin wished he could do the same. 

“I’m not so good with tears, so I’m just… I’m just gonna go.” Raider said, looking uncomfortable. 

“Of course.” Odin agreed, inclining his head. The giant rooster nodded once, then left, taking the elevator down, the case of cash held securely in one large hand. 

Lyla said nothing, wrapping her own arms around her, her spine curved in sorrow. Mourning the loss of her friend as well. 

He gestured to the gardening bots in the room to depart, leaving them alone in the room. “I’m sorry.” Lyla hiccuped. “I...” She stammered, unable to form words. 

“You’re fine.” Odin assured her. She’d just lost Donald as well. 

Her job was also now defunct, the Time Police now finished due to the lack of time travel, it’s future mostly unknown. And now she was standing in the penthouse of the billionaire whose company had built her. 

He held a hand out towards her. “I’ve got some extravagantly expensive champagne around here that was given to me as a bribe.” Odin commented, managing a weak smile. “Want to pretend to get drunk and share ridiculous stories about our caped crusader?” 

She stared at him him for a moment, then hiccuped, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sure.” Lyla nodded, taking his hand. 

At least they wouldn’t have to mourn alone. 

* * *

The chemical composition of the champagne was as bad as he’d feared, but neither of them had the tastebuds to care, merely enjoying the fizzy feeling of the bubbles as they talked. Alcohol didn’t effect him unless he wanted it to, but he let everything to a little fuzzy, a little less sharp and painful. 

“-So then we start tossing the chronostablizer like a rugby ball, keeping it out of reach of the rest of the thugs.” Lyla laughed, taking a quick sip of her champagne. “-And I swear I hear the pilot of the fighter jet right above my head ask the other one if they want to get out and cheer.”

From where Odin was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa, Odin chuckled. He had of course seen the video feeds of them tossing the fake chronostablizer back and forth while dodging a massive number of thugs while it had happened, but he hadn’t heard this. 

There were times when he wished he was still Uno, having a connection to Paperinik via the X-Transformer shield, able to know everything that was going on. It was the price he paid for becoming small, mobile. And while he considered to have gained more than he lost in the trade, it didn’t mean there weren’t times he regretted not being just an AI in a tower.

Keeping up the facade of being organic was exhausting. 

“This is nice.” Lyla commented, leaning sideways against the back of the sofa and resting her head on it. She had her legs curled up with her feet tucked beneath, the arm not holding the champagne draped across her lap. He hadn’t seen her uncurl completely from when they’d first sat down, but she seemed more relaxed now. 

Odin hummed in agreement, feeling a sense of lassitude fall over him, almost like it was time to recharge, but mentally instead of physically. His brain was tired. It felt like there was a part of him that was constantly scanning for something, waiting for a return signal. It always seemed to hit him harder after Donald returned back to the past, the electronic version of a migraine. 

“Thank you.” Lyla said quietly. “The Time Police only want facts, they don’t want to know the fun stuff like this. And in the 21th century…”

“You can’t really talk about it.” Odin nodded. Neither about Paperink, nor about Donald. Donald was not well regarded in the 21th century. Too many failed jobs, not much funds, a terrible temper, a voice that many described as unintelligible. 

Although he’d personally never had any issues understanding Donald’s voice, with or without the voice modulator. 

But that overlooked his partner’s big heart, his kindness, and his protective nature. Donald _cared_ more than most anyone else whom Odin had met, no matter what the time period. 

Odin wanted him back. He always had, even as he’d understood that his partner’s visits in the current present would be brief. 

Only there would be no more visits now. He’d lost his partner. The hollow aching sense of loneliness slipped in again and he closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, waiting for it to pass.

“Hey.” Lyla said, startling him slightly. “Tell me ones of yours.” 

“Hmm?” He opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow as he turned towards Lyla, who was looking at him with a sympathetically concerned expression. 

“You’d said we’d swap stories.” The corner of her beak curved in a sad smile. “Tell me one of yours. What’s your favourite memory of him?” 

Odin had many. Many fights, many debates, many too brief stolen moments of quiet happiness. He quickly filtered through his most reviewed ones, dismissing several before settling on one that was more amusing. “Have you ever seen him put on the costume in a hurry?” He inquired, a bit of a smile teasing at the edges of his mouth in muted amusement. 

“Not really?” Lyla admitted. “He’s usually wearing it when we meet.” 

“It’s not dignified.” Odin drawled, amused. He had watched Donald change hundreds of times, and while there was a certain sense of flailing eloquence to it, it was rarely graceful, and usually accompanied by angry muttering. “To this day, I don’t know how he got his feet into the boots, there’s no zippers.”

Lyla’s face scrunched up as she tried to figure it out, looking down at her own feet and wiggling her toes. He some what envied her of that ability, his body didn’t have toes. 

Even after almost 300 years, he was still the most advanced Artificial Intelligence in not only the world, but probably the galaxy. However his body, while it may have been advanced 72 years ago when Everett had made it for him, had fallen a bit behind the times. But for all the advancements in robotics that had been made since then, Odin had yet to be able to create a new form that could house all of his intelligence. 

He brought his mind back to the subject at hand. “The cape is also attached at the collar, it doesn’t come off.” 

“The cape being attached seems like it should have been a tactical issue.” Lyla mused. 

“Oh, it was.” Odin agreed. “He once got it caught in the closing door of a Evronian vessel just as it was taking off into space. Ripped everything but his boots and his mask right off.” 

Lyla sputtered and laughed. “Seriously?” 

“Very.” He took a sip and closed his eyes for a moment, finding the data log he was looking for. Paperink had snuck aboard the vessel in the hopes of sabotaging the trap the alien emotion-suckers were laying for Xadhoom. Their connection had cut out once the spaceship had left orbit, and he’d spent several days worrying about his partner, until Donald had made it back, safely and in one piece. 

And with with a set of strange fuzzy blue bedroom slippers that Donald stubbornly refused to explain. 

He sorted through several other data logs, all of the precious memories he had of his partner, until he found another amusing one. “Another time, he had to quickly change into his uniform in the middle of a mission. There was a bit of a time crunch as armed personnel were heading his way, and he ended up putting it on backwards.” 

“ _Backwards_?! Wait, wait!” Lyla flapped a hand in his direction, the champagne sloshing in her glass. “Doesn’t his uniform have the hole for the tail cut out?!” 

“Yes. He had to carry the cape in his arms, but that didn’t quite cover the now ‘bellybutton hole’.” Odin smirked, opening his eyes. He held his hand open, projecting the image of an annoyed Paperinik into his palm, his partner grumbling as he carried the mass of fabric hanging from his front. 

Partly because of the cape, and partly because of the company he’d been keeping at the time. Several hundred feet under the ocean in a collapsing laboratory, surrounded and being attacked by the genetically engineered giant sharks the scientists in the lab had created. 

Odin would have enjoyed the adventure more if it hadn’t been for the risk to his partner’s health after the sharks attacked their vehicle, and for Donald’s temporary amnesia. Still, justice prevailed and it had been an interesting situation. Being saved by _whales_ of all things. 

He turned to glance at Lyla, expecting to find her smiling Paperinik’s scowling expression, but she was looking at him instead, her eyes wide and expression shocked. “Who… _What_ are you-?” She demanded, pressing back against the sofa arm in alarm. 

“Ah.” Odin discontinued the projection, having forgotten the quirk of his eyes glowing a bright luminous green when he did that. A hold over from Uno that he’d never gotten around to fixing, since the only time he projected his memories was when he was alone and feeling lonely.

Lyla’s eyes flashed silver as she scanned him, and he held still, allowing it. “You _read_ as completely biological.” She said, but the panic had not left her voice. “And that footage of Paperinik is **no where** in the Time Police databanks.” 

Odin sighed. He really shouldn’t have let himself get quite that fuzzy or operate below optimal performance levels while around someone else. He took a breath, bringing himself back up to normal speed, the migraine intensifying as he did. 

He had a couple of choices here. The simplest would be to simply erase the past few minutes of Lyla’s memories. Stop the issue before it started. The knowledge that Donald wouldn’t appreciate it stayed his hand. 

The other option was that he could tell the truth. Lyla had always been a good companion. And… he could use that now. Life as Odin was solitary because he couldn’t afford to let anyone too close, lest his status as non-biological be discovered. It would be nice to have someone in on the secret, much like how Donald had known his existence as Uno. 

Maybe not as a partner, but a real friend. He had not been created to be solitary, but to have someone to interact with. 

“Come with me.” Odin said, getting to his feet, and for once not bothering with letting himself pretending to struggle to do so, giving the illusion of frailty in his age. He set the champagne down on the side table next to her, and waited for Lyla to rise to her feet before leading her through the mansion. 

Neither of them said anything as they passed through the long silent hallways. Odin didn’t bother with the lights, knowing they could both see perfectly fine in the darkness. They went to one of the lesser used areas of his place, towards his bedroom. He unlocked the door to the room with a glance, then escorted her in. 

… Lyla was probably the first person to enter his bedchambers other than himself, he realised with a small jolt of amusement. Less for the purposes of secrecy, but more for lack of interest on his part. After being introduced to Donald’s passion for life and helping others early on his creation, in contrast most people seemed horribly dull. 

“What I’m about to show you cannot leave this room.” Odin said, walking to the far wall, where a small old fashion desk sat. “Encrypt it or wipe it from your memory banks.” 

Lyla frowned, but nodded. 

Odin picked up a photograph, still kept safe in a metal and glass frame 200 years later, looking at it. It was from one of data banks, saved with multiple backs for fear that he would lose such a precious thing as time with his partner. He looked at it fondly for a moment before turning back towards her. “But if I could trust you with my, with Donald, then I believe I can trust you with myself as well.” 

He offered her the frame. Lyla glanced between him and the picture frame in confusion, then took it, giving out a small gasp. 

It was a picture of Donald in mid-tirade, arms flailing in the air, feet kicking as he shouted at high volume as he sat in a sofa. Next to him sat a green glowing globe, with the face of a clearly amused duck laughing inside of it. 

“That’s…” Lyla breathed, glancing back and forth between his face and the photograph. Uno’s face was very similar to Odin’s, the hair and lack of cheek fluff being the notable exceptions. 

The photo was a frame of his favourite eleven minutes of interaction with Donald, probably the most replayed memory, the one he came back to when he needed a reminder of better times. 

Uno had purposely set Donald off, because he couldn’t get over how free and expressive Donald was with his emotions. Less than a minute later, Donald had been laughing, one arm around the spere as Uno laughed as well. And a few minutes after that, Donald had been fast asleep, curled around the globe. 

Uno had let him sleep, knowing that his friend needed it, and marvelling at the trust and affection Donald showed. And if he’d wished that he could feel Donald’s feathers against the glass of the sphere as more than mere pressure, that was for him alone to know. 

Lyla motioned to the green sphere in the picture. “This is-?”

“Me.” Odin admitted. “In the 21st century. My creator named me ‘One’.” 

“Wait.” She tapped the photograph, her eyes sparking with intelligence. “You were his Partner, back in his time. His ‘One’.”

“Yes.” His partner in every way that he could be, while stuck in the tower. He’d been grateful to Lyla, that she was there to guard Donald’s back and go the places he couldn’t go. “Donald called me ‘Uno’.” 

“It means the same thing, doesn’t it?” Lyla looked confused, offering him the the photograph back. Which made sense, given their use of language translators it would sound the same to her. 

“Yes.” Odin admitted. “It took me several months to realise that to Donald, the nickname meant we were friends. Two of his dearest friends were from Latin America, and he would speak Spanish with them.” 

Uno would make the calls, as it was easy enough to bounce the signal off a satellite and connect them without stretching Donald’s extremely limited budget to cover long distance phone calls. Donald didn’t know all the words in Spanish, José and Panchito didn’t always know the words in English, but they made it work, conversation flowing like music through the air in a way that fascinated Uno. 

And the few times Donald was drunk or extremely happy, he’d often start singing, frequently in Spanish. To this day, Odin still had no idea where Donald would suddenly find a guitar to start playing. 

_’Oh, we have the stars to guide us…’_

“After Donald returned from his first trip to the 23rd century, he brought back a data plate that informed Uno that he would someday become Odin, and I would see him again.” Odin ran his fingertips across the smooth metal of the frame. “And whenever Donald left here, I knew he was going back home to me.” 

“But not any more.” Lyla murmured, her expression falling. 

“No.” Odin admitted. Donald would return back to a silent, empty Ducklair tower. And a few weeks later, to the loss of his sister. To this day, he still didn’t know what had caused him to be turned off. But by the time Uno pulled himself back together, Donald would be... gone. 

Even then, he’d had the future to look forward to, as Odin, and seeing Donald again. But that was all over now. 200 years later, Odin was grieving for his friend all over again, this time without that hope. 

It was possibly time to retire himself as Odin. He had back up plans, an appearance saved with little relation to how he looked as Odin, let his ‘great-nephew’ Eldos take over. 

Her eyes flickered, becoming silver as she scanned him again. “I thought…” She shook her head. “You read as completely biological.” 

Of course he did. It was his company that build the scanners that were in every droid that allowed them to analyze components of everything they saw around him. It was a minor tweak to the code that granted an exception to him, that his scans always came back as organic. 

He shook his head with a small smile. “Never have been.” He’d never wished to be biological, it always seemed like a pain. Too fragile, too much maintenance. But he sometimes wished for their senses, to be able to explore the world as one. 

Droids couldn’t smell, or taste. No reason to, as they did not need to ingest items for energy. And organics seemed to enjoy their food immensely. He’d always delighted in handing Donald food or drink, watching the way his face lit up, the joy Donald took in eating. 

Lyla frowned for a moment. “That’s a secret that no one can know.” 

“No.” Odin agreed. Droids had gotten gained equal rights they had because he, as a biological being, had created them and campaigned for them. If it was to be discovered he were not flesh, it would set them all back. It was a very dangerous secret that he was sharing with her. 

She took a deep breath and nodded, a very biological action. “Thank you.” She said quietly. “For trusting me.” 

“Thank you.” Odin tiled his head to the side. “It is nice to not grieve alone.” 

“It is.” Lyla agreed, a faint smile on her face. 

“You’re welcome to stay with me, for as long as you wish.” Odin said. “I don’t know what you have for lodgings in this time period, but it’d be nice… to have a friend around.”

Someone familiar, who understood what they had both just lost. And it wasn’t as if he was hurting for space, she had her choice of rooms in his mansion above the clouds. 

“I’d like that.” Lyla admitted, one arm curved protectively around her chest, hand holding her other arm. “Thank you.” 

“It is not a problem. You’re welcome to any of them save for this one and the one next door.” 

This room obviously, because it was his. It sparsely decorated, the main bit of personality the small photo that he’d shared. It was completely unlike the rest of his opulent house, and he preferred it that way. A place where he could seal himself off and just be for a little while, not have to worry about keeping up the facade of being biological.

The other one was Donald’s. The too few times Donald had spent the night in the 23rd Century, Odin had given Donald the room closest to his, finding something in him easing at having his partner nearby again. 

It wasn’t logical, but he wasn’t quite ready to give up Donald’s room just yet. 

“To be honesty, you will be doing me a favour.” He shugged. “I’ve missed having someone to cohabitate with.” He couldn’t take that chance of someone finding out his secret. Since she knew however, that danger was gone. 

“Hmm.” Lyla nodded. “I’ve never really done it, so it’ll be a learning curve for both of us.” She admitted. 

He nodded. That was fair. 

“What was…” Lyla paused. “What was your favourite part of living with Donald?”

Odin chuckled. “Believe it or not, it was his snoring.” He confessed.

“Seriously?” Lyla gave him an incredulous look. 

“The first night Donald slept inside the Ducklair Tower, I thought some of my machinery was broken based on the sounds coming from his room.” Odin smiled sadly. “But it was his snoring.” 

He’d hated the noise initially, but later came to depend on it, and the knowledge that if his friend was snoring, it meant he was safe within Uno’s walls. Paperinik was a dangerous, if needed, occupation. Uno did his best to protect his partner in any way he could. 

“I’ve never met anyone who could snore as loudly as he can.” She admitted, giving a little hiccuping laugh. Lyla paused, looking at him for a moment, with an almost perplexed expression on her face. “... Huh.”

“What?” 

“I never realised.” Lyla said, sorrow slowly overtaking her features. “You’re in love with him. With Donald.” 

Odin stared blankly for a moment, his processors skipping for a nano-second before resuming, contemplated her words. He’d never quite put it in that context before. “...Love him, yes.” He agreed. To his understanding, there were several different kinds of love, and he felt many of them towards Donald, and knew that many were returned. “In love, I don’t know.”

Almost 300 years after his creation and there were still things he felt were beyond him. Such as that important distinction between ‘love’ and ‘in love’. 

“Hmm.” Lyla looked thoughtful. “It was never like that with us. He was my Partner-in-Crimefighting, my Adventure Partner.” 

“And he came home to me.” That was the part he missed the most, having Donald’s company. Not just for saving the world, but the little every day things. Sharing each other’s company, the little jokes, references to previous conversations. The silly arguments over ‘Anxieties’. 

She hummed in return, looking sleepy. Probably time for her to recharge for a little while after a long day.

He should have shown her to a room, but they stood there instead. The two of them saying nothing, lost in their own thoughts. The quiet was comfortable, neither feeling the need to talk. 

At least until his communicator went off. Odin frowned. He was sure he’d left strict instructions not to be disturbed. With an irritated push of the button he activated it. “Yes?”

“Sorry for the interruption, but there’s someone calling about his nephew, a matter of life and death.” His secretary looked a little frazzled. “Says their name is Scrooge McDuck.” 

“What?” Odin glanced up at Lyla, who looked as confused and alarmed as he did. “Put him through.” 

The blurry pixelated face of a fiercely scowling old duck wearing an antiquated top hat under his space helmet appeared on the display. “Now, t’be fair, I meant Donald’s life, and yer death if y’don’t go and fetch him.” Scrooge McDuck informed him bluntly in a burr Odin hadn’t heard in centuries. “Cause I’ll come and kill ya meself before I go and wake him up, I don’t care wotcha are.” 

“What.” He stated dumbly, as for one precious moment, Odin’s processors failed to compute. And then he grabbed the communicator on his wrist with his free hand, pulling it closer. “ _Where is he?!_ ” He demanded, his voice crackling in desperation. 

If Scrooge McDuck, Donald’s _uncle_ was **calling** him, there there was a faint hope, the _slightest_ chance that Donald...

“Ah, now **there’s** a reaction I was hopin’ ta see, Odin Eidolon.” Scrooge grinned, looking smug. “Sendin’ you the coordinates now. It’s nae far, just follow the instructions on the plaque when y’see him and it’ll all be fine. I’ll follow up in a couple of days, once you’re all sorted. Bye now.”

The communicator pinged as a data packet was downloaded to it, then the screen went blank. Odin stared at the coordinates in surprise. It was on the other side of Killmotor Hill, where McDuck Manor still stood as a historical museum, overlooking the city of Duckburg.

“You don’t think-?” Lyla ventured hesitantly as Odin calculated the fastest way there. He didn’t waste time with an answer, taking off running, heading for his garage. Lyla followed him, straining to keep up with his speed. She barely made inside the car he jumped into, flailing for balance as he took off, flying out of his tower as fast as he could get the car to move. 

“You’re going to get arrested!” Lyla yelped, holding on to the door and the ceiling to brace herself as they went nearly straight down. 

“They’ll have to catch me first.” Odin stated calmly, calculations running through his mind as he used their momentum to slingshot into a curve, sliding through cross traffic, missing all the cars with a less than ideal margin for safety. Normal safety margins, anyway. 

It took too long and no time at all to reach the gates of McDuck Manor, which opened for him without prompting, and he followed the data sent, immediately drove to the garage. A small door to the side was open, and he immediately jumped out of the car, striding as fast as he could without running towards it. 

Darkness greeted him, then a spark of blue light. “That was faster than anticipated.” A dry voice drawled as a floating figure materialised, a beagle dressed in an old historical butler suit. 

“I’ve waited centuries to greet my friend properly.” Odin snapped. “Why would I wait any further?” 

“Odin.” Lyla hissed from over his shoulder. “Why is there a floating blur?” 

She couldn’t see him. Odin would have loved to have pondered that mystery, but at a later date. 

The ghost butler seemed amused by her reaction, but didn’t comment on it. He held up a key, offering it to Odin. “The key will break after three attempts.” He informed Odin, then motioned to a far wall, where there was what looked like a round vault door was open, revealing an entrance to somewhere else. 

“I’ll only need one.” Odin swore, taking the key and heading to the entrance. He didn’t need any light to find the spiralling staircase down, feet barely touching the steps as he made his way down, and found himself staring down a long corridor, lined with doors, each with a lock on them. 

He glanced down at the key, then the seemingly endless hallway, multiple stories tall. Donald was in one of the rooms. 

Lyla stumbled down after him, her systems not quite as advanced as his. “What was that back there?” She asked. 

“A ghost.” Odin murmured absently. There had to be a system to the doors, a way to figure out what was behind each one without just opening them. 

The door closest to him was labeled ‘0001’, then the numbers above the doors jumped, running in four to six digit codes. 

Codes. Odin was good with codes. He quickly made his way down the hallway, noting that the last two digits remained more constant than the first two, then restarted at 00. The first two digits never exceeded 12. 

Dates. The doors were organised according to dates, laid out in the American Imperial system, month then day. Most likely the date the object inside was acquired, if the way they were laid out chronologically was any indication. 

“We need to find room 5-4-59.” Odin announced, taking off running through the 1900s, watching as the last two numbers reset to 00, then began to climb again. The twenty-teens seemed to be very active years for McDuck, and took a while to get through. 

“What’s 5-4-59?” Lyla asked, following him. 

“May 4th, 2059.” Odin spotted the door and nearly fell over as he countered his momentum to come to a stop. “The day the Three Caballeros died.” He had the date seared into his memory banks, he didn’t think he could ever forget it, much like the fateful day he’d met his partner, stumbling into his secret floor through a gargoyle. 

He pressed the side of his head to the door, straining his auditory systems to try to hear behind it. Through the noise of the door, he could pick up the faintest of sounds, like an intermittent chainsaw. Odin smirked, putting the key into the door and turning the lock. 

“Are you sure this is the right door?” Lyla questioned. 

“Oh, yes.” Odin opened the door and nearly wept at the sound that echoed from within. There was only one person in any time period who made a noise like that. 

Lyla gasped as he opened the door wide enough for them to both look inside. At the end of a small rectangular chamber, there was a mattress on what looked like a raised slab of concrete. A small figure was sprawled out on it, half-covered with a blanket. 

Donald snored on, oblivious to his visitors. 

“Follow the instructions on the plaque…” Lyla murmured. “Do you see one-?” 

Odin stepped into the small room, almost afraid his optics were malfunctioning and Donald would disappear if he looked away. Donald had one hand raised over his head, the other one to the side, as if reaching for something. 

Leaning against Donald’s side was a flat metal oval, about the size of one of his hands. Odin picked it up, finding two words engraved on the side. 

‘ _Kiss Me_ ’. 

“Oh.” Odin breathed. 

“What is it?” Lyla asked. 

“Either this is a reference to a 17th century Fairy Tale, or Donald is under some sort of magical spell.” Odin said, finding himself inexplicably nervous. “... Possibly both.” 

Lyla didn’t say anything for a moment. “What does it say?” She ventured. 

He held up the plague so she could read it. “Oh.” She gasped, one hand coming up to cover her bill, eyes going wide. They then crinkled in amusement as she smiled mischievously. “Well then, you’d better get to it.” 

Odin swallowed. “Me? Are you sure?” 

“It’s not me.” Lyla grinned. “McDuck didn’t call _me_. And Donald and I weren’t like that.” 

“We weren’t either.” Odin pointed out, feeling rather warm. 

“You probably could be.” Lyla leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms, blocking the exit. 

Odin glanced at her, then the plaque in his hands, then Donald’s sleeping form. It was beyond his wildest calculations to find Donald here, in this time period, alive. So why was he hesitating? 

It wasn’t logical. Certainly, he’d never actually kissed anyone before, but logically how hard could it be? A touch of his beak to Donald’s, that was all. 

His processors stopped working and vibrated uselessly for a moment. Odin took a deep breath and shook his head, clearing his mind, reminding himself to focus. 

He had waited over 250 years to be able to do something as simple as shake his best friend’s hand in greeting. He wasn’t going to lock up now. 

Odin stepped closer, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, next to Donald. He set the plaque down, surprised to realise his fingers where trembling slightly as he took Donald’s outstretched hand, his long fingers wrapping around Donald’s wrist, automatically finding the slow pulse point. 

The curve of Donald’s wrist from his strong forearms to his hands were the first thing he’d thought of as aesthetically pleasing on a biological being. He’d both blessed and hated the long sleeves Donald wore on a daily basis, grateful that they’d covered up such a distraction, until the fabric slipped up a bit, giving a tantalizing glimpse of that curve. 

He’d operated on less than optimal efficiency the few times Donald had worn short sleeves, or worse yet, a tank top while in the tower. He’d ‘accidentally’ gotten rid of most of those in an effort to minimize the distraction.

Donald’s arm was heavy and solid in his fingers in a way that the most advanced robotic and holographic technology couldn’t replicate. He folded Donald’s arm, placing his hand on Donald’s chest, then reached for Donald’s other arm, above his head, intent on giving his friend some semblance of dignity. 

Donald abruptly stopped snoring, making a growling noise in the back of his throat. Both of his arms moved, latching on to Odin as he suddenly rolled, dragging Odin across the bed with him. Odin found himself draped awkwardly over Donald’s compact body, faces nearly smashed together, feet dangling off the edge of the bed.

“Uno.” Donald happily murmured, rubbing his beak against Odin’s, causing sparks to run down his exoskeleton.

Metaphorical or literal, Odin couldn’t tell. 

He could tell however, the moment that Donald started to wake up, watching with fascination as Donald’s eyes started to move behind the thin skin of his eyelids, respiration and circulatory systems speeding up. His eyelashes flickered, eyes slowly opening, a spark of awareness growing in his dark eyes. 

And then Donald yawned in Odin’s face, giving Odin an unobstructed view down his throat and Odin nearly laughed.

“Hello.” Donald said, voice cracking from disuse, looking sleepily happy to see him, and Odin easily forgave the morning breath. 

“Good morning, Hero.” Odin murmured, letting his arm rest over Donald’s shoulder, cradling the back of his head, fingertips ruffling the feathers there. For centuries, he’d wanted to touch his partner with his own hands, and suddenly he could. Donald was right here. 

Donald hummed happily, leaning his forehead against Odin’s. He could pick up brushes of Donald’s thoughts, sleepy and content, happy to see him. 

Odin almost wanted to cry, overwhelmed with emotion. Donald just hummed in the back of his throat, lifting a hand to rest it Odin’s cheek with soft fingertips. 

Lyla made a soft noise from the door, and he _knew_ she was recording this. “Delete that.” He called out. 

“Nope.” Lyla called back, and Donald chuckled. 

Donald raised a arm, gesturing for Lyla to come closer, and she did. Donald turned towards her. “Glad you’re both okay.” He said, voice croaking a little more than usual as he took her hand, pulling her onto the mattress as well. 

Odin couldn’t find it in him to be jealous as Donald tucked his head under Odin’s with a happy sigh, cuddling close. He had questions, so many questions, but the only thing he managed to get out was a single word. “How?”

Donald’s beak brushed against Odin’s neck as he spoke, and Odin repressed the urge to shiver at the light contact. “Magic.” He said bluntly. 

That only brought up more questions. Donald chuckled, sounding knowing. “Later.” He said, yawning again. “Do you still have coffee around here?”

“We can get you some.” Lyla said, sounding like she was trying not to laugh and cry at the same time. 

“Okay.” Donald nodded, then stretched, his body going from soft and cuddly to hard muscles and bones against Odin’s before going lax again. “Coffee, then answers.” He instructed, pulling away just enough to look Odin in the face, with fond crooked smile. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You’re here… to stay?” Lyla ventured, looking tentatively hopeful. 

Donald grinned and nodded. “Yeah. No more time travel.” 

The idea seemed beyond Odin’s imagination. No more brief visits here, no more unexpectedly popping back and forth in the past. Just Donald in one time period, the present. 

“I’m holding you to that, Old Cape.” Odin agreed, sitting up and bringing Donald with him. Donald squawked, giving him a cranky dark look at being handled. It was such a familiar look that Odin laughed, feeling has if a great weight had just been removed from his chest. 

He had no idea what was coming in the future anymore, but that was alright. He had his partner with him once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Donald sighed, running his fingers over his arm. “I need to do a serious preening.” He muttered, slightly annoyed.

He probably needed to do several things, including sleep, none of which he wanted to do. The past few hours had been frantic once Odin and Lyla had gotten him up and moving, his body stiff and sore after being horizontal for for two centuries. 

Duckworth had smirked as they’d stepped into the light of the garage, handing him a packet of papers, background and identity documents for his living in the 23rd Century. Thankfully Lyla had collected them, going through them as Odin had ushered Donald to the car, then back to his house, where he’d immediately set the medical scanners on Donald. 

Talking while being scanned, poked, and prodded was an experience, not a comfortable one. 

He was pretty sure they didn’t quite believe his story about magic, and potions that caused immortality or sleeping for centuries. He didn’t mind. They were beings of science and technology, and he knew from past adventures the two didn’t generally mix that well. 

That was okay though. He was here and that was the main thing that mattered. 

Odin hadn’t really lost the frantic focused air to him until the scans came back that Donald was healthy, in good health for a 36 year old male duck. And then he’d gotten several vaccination shots so that 23rd century diseases didn’t kill him, Lyla gleefully informing him of several mutated strains of STDs that could effect biologicals. 

There were reasons why Odin was his favourite. Lots and lots of reasons.

“Preening?” Odin inquired, head tilting to the side, an interested look on his face. He’d scarcely let Donald more than an arm length away from him, as if afraid that he was imagining the entire thing as well. Donald didn’t mind in the least. 

The 23rd century felt louder and brighter than he remembered, the colours and noise had faded from his memory, and it set him a little on edge. Part of him was afraid that this was all just a dream, that he was still slumbering. Having Odin nearby was reassuring. 

It was funny, now that he knew, just how much Odin resembled Uno. They had the same face shape, the expressive eyebrows. The same way of hovering without really hovering, just being there. 

He didn’t want to say it, but he was a little afraid to go back to sleep, in case this was a dream, or he didn’t wake up again. Thankfully, Odin hadn’t noticed, even if Lyla had already retired for the night after hours of catching up. 

For her, they’d just finished the whole ordeal with the chronostablizer a few hours earlier. She’d had some mechanical issues then, and probably needed some time to do a bit of maintenance, probably shut down for a bit as well. 

“Yeah.” Donald pulled a feather free from his arm, holding up to the light and inspecting it. “My feathers are really dry.” 

Dry meant they were stiff and brittle, which was both uncomfortable and unhealthy. It wasn’t anything that he couldn’t put off until morning, but it gave him an excuse to stay up a little bit longer, just in case it was a dream and they’d all disappear as soon as he shut his eyes. 

Donald paused, giving Odin a considering look. “I guess that’s not something you have to deal with, huh?” He asked with a small smile. 

Odin’s body was synthetic, his feathers and hair probably didn’t wear like Donald’s organic ones did, no matter how closely they looked. Donald certainly hadn’t ever realised that Odin was a droid. Much less that he was Donald’s dear friend. 

“No.” Odin tilted his head to the side, his beak curving momentarily in muted merriment, a joke shared between them. Then it faded to a more intent, serious look. “May I help?” 

Donald blinked, surprised that Odin would be interested in it. But when he thought of it, he supposed he hadn’t really done any of that around Uno, preening as part of his bathing ritual, done in the bathroom, where Uno didn’t have any cameras to give him some privacy. 

“Have you ever-?” Donald asked, then clacked his bill shut, not having meant to ask that. 

“No.” Odin shook his head, that muted smile back, that shared joke. 

Donald hesitated. Partly because even before he’d known that Odin had been Uno, Odin had struck him as someone who was very kind. Not only because Odin had gone out of his way to help Donald, but the way he dealt with his droids, and the people around him. And he wondered if this was another part of that. 

Partly because it'd been a very, very long time since he'd any assistance with his feathers. 

“I’d like to, if that’s you okay with you.” Odin said quickly, and there was something desperate in his expression that Donald couldn’t completely read. But it was enough for him to realise that Odin wasn’t asking out of kindness, but because it was something he _wanted_. 

“Sure.” Donald agreed. “Let me rinse off real quick, then I can show you how to do it. Meet me in my room in ten minutes?”

Between having been a sailor and not having much hot water on his houseboat, Donald had mastered the art of the quick shower. 

“Of course.” Odin nodded, his shoulders relaxing. 

Donald nodded and headed towards the rooms that Odin had offered him. They were the same ones he’d stayed in during his trips to the 23rd century before, even finding a few gadgets from his belt left behind in the room. 

It’d made him both happy and sad to see them. Happy, that Odin had cared enough to keep them, but sad because it meant that no one else had used the rooms. Odin was popular, but didn’t seem to have a lot of friends. 

Which was one of the major reasons why Donald had chosen to come forward, to the future. 

He turned the water as hot as it would go, then yelped at how hot it was. There was no waiting for the water to warm up, it went immediately to boiling, and he quickly turned the heat down to a less scorching temperature. He wanted to get clean, not boil himself alive. 

It did feel a bit odd to be bathing again, to his memory, he’d just bathed not twelve hours ago, not wanting to slumber covered in dirt. 

Once the water was to a temperature that wouldn’t leave burns, he shed his shirt and hat, jumping in and getting himself wet. The soaps and shampoos in the bath for him to use all smelled different then what he was used to, and he spent a few seconds sniffing them before finding one he kind of liked and quickly scrubbing himself down. 

He lost quite a feathers as he did so, old damaged ones. More than Donald was used to, but not quite as bad as a moult. There was a fair bit of dust as well, and he was a little shocked to find he was bit more grey then he’d realised as he washed all of it out. 

Once he was clean, he turned the water off and gave himself a good shake, small feathers flying up into the air as he did so. It was a trick he’d learned when he was younger and first got tasked with cleaning the bathroom. If he shook off in the bath or shower stall where it was contained, he didn’t have to clean feathers out of every nook and cranny in the room. 

Although he did have to get them out of the shower drain before they clogged it. He did so, making a face at the mess, tossing them in the waste bin, before grabbing a towel and giving himself a quick rub down before wrapping the towel around his waist and venturing out into the bedroom. 

The room was empty, and for a moment, he wondered if Odin had changed his mind. Then there was a knock on the door before it opened, Odin walking in, tying a bathrobe around his waist. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to change into something more comfortable as well.” He commented, pulling long strands of shimmering dark green hair out of his collar and running his hands through it, smoothing his hair out. 

He wasn’t wearing a shirt under the robe, and the robe itself was long and full enough Donald wasn’t sure if Odin was wearing anything under it at all. He swallowed, feeling gangly and awkward next to his friend. Odin was pretty and graceful in a way that Donald could only admire, never emulate.

“g-Good idea.” Donald nodded, turning towards the dresser. He knew from his previous trips here that there was a night shirt in one of the drawers. It took a couple of tries to remember where it was, and he pulled it out, amused to realise it was the same blue as his old sailor shirt. 

He hadn’t worn it while he was sleeping here, too caught up in keeping his identity secret. The idea nearly made him laugh now. 

“Ready?” Donald asked, hiking up the towel around his waist. 

“Ready, Old Cape.” Odin smiled, and Donald had a dizzying moment, able to see Uno’s smiling face on Odin’s sharper features. It was the same fond inflection too. “How do we do this?” 

“Probably best if you were sitting down.” Donald mused. Odin was almost twice Donald’s height. Not that Donald was jealous, there were a lot of advantages to his small but powerful size, but it did make the logistics a bit tricker. “The bed?” 

“Certainly.” Odin agreed, walking to the bed, fabric and hair flowing gracefully around him. He settled himself down on the head of the bed, moving a pillow to support his back, then pulling his hair to the side, giving Donald an expectant look. 

Legs folded in front of him, Donald could see that he was wearing long loose pants, wider cut than the suits he typically wore. Donald was strangely relieved and disappointed by that. He waved it off, walking over to the bed and hopping up on it, scooting on his knees until he was in front of Odin before turning around, with in arm’s reach. 

He half undid the towel, letting it fall away from his tail, setting the night shirt between his legs for privacy. “Do you know what ‘preening oil’ is?” He asked, twisting around to look at Odin. 

“I have a bottle.” Odin admitted. “The better to blend in.” 

Donald nodded. Odin probably had a nice scented synthetic kind, as befitting his status and appearance. “Never could afford that, so I’m used to my own.”

“Your…” Odin trailed off, clearly accessing something in that giant memory of his. His gaze traveled from Donald’s face, down his spine to the base of his tail. “Ah.” 

“Yeah.” Donald looked down, pressing his fingers just above the curve of his tail, where two preen glands lay, one on either side of his spine. He pulled his fingers away, now covered in a faint yellow sheen of oil. “You don’t have to if you don’t want.” 

Being biological was messy business. Eating, drinking, eliminating, grooming. Most birds had preen glands for their feathers, keeping them healthy and flexible, but other species like dogs or mice didn’t. Droids didn’t need it at all, their synthetic feathers and fur not needing the same maintenance organics did.

“What do you do next?” Odin asked, his voice gentle and curious. 

Donald glanced at his friend, finding Odin looking intrigued. There was no disgust or hesitation, and Donald found himself relaxing slightly. 

“You check the feathers.” He started at the top of the arm not coated in oil, running his fingers over each feather. “Each of the feathers gets a light coating, and a bit of maintenance. Start at the base and move to the tip, zipping the barbs together so they lay flat, make sure there’s nothing trapped underneath.” 

“Got it.” Odin nodded. He put his hand on Donald’s lower back, where it curved for the tail, then ran his fingers down Donald’s spine until he found the preen gland, running his fingertips against it, just feeling it. Donald let him, watching as Odin finally pulled his fingers way, rubbing them against his thumb to feel the texture. “Where should I start?”

“Anywhere on my back is fine.” Donald shrugged. He trusted Odin with his back, quite literally. 

He still jumped a little when he felt fingers on his bare skin, without the buffer of feathers. Odin was quiet for a long moment, tracing the edges of the large patch of scar tissue under Donald’s armpit. 

“Saving Dewey.” Donald said quietly, answering Odin’s unasked question. Dewey always had a bit of an ego, the drive to be the centre of attention. It’d gotten worse when he was a teenager, driving him to take stupid risks with the assurance of imperviousness that most teenagers had. 

Donald had gotten between Dewey and a booby trap in the middle of an ancient temple, resulting in a section along the side of ribcage about the size of his fist suddenly going missing. Donald didn’t remember much of what happened after that, other than making sure his kids were okay. 

The next thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital to find that the family had pulled together several miracles, both scientific and magical, to patch him up. They hadn’t been able to repair everything, and it’d taken a while to heal entirely, even if the feathers never really grew back on a small patch of skin where his flesh had gone missing. 

He’d woken up once to Scrooge lecturing the kids that just because Donald didn’t age didn’t mean that he was impervious or immortal. And an injury meant that it’d last a lot longer on Donald than it would for anyone else, that he’d carry those scars for the rest of his long life. 

Donald hadn’t chimed in, staring at the cane that Uncle Scrooge always carried. Frequently it was a prop, a weapon, a tool for adventuring. But there were days when Uncle Scrooge limped and leaned heavily on the cane, scars and souvenirs of his own from his own adventures. 

It’d been a wake up call not only for Dewey, but for the rest of the kids too, and they’d been a lot more careful about their adventures afterwards. 

It’d also been the one time he’d seriously thought that Daisy was going to break up with him, her learning that he wasn’t going to be age. It’d caused more issues later on, but they were able to get through, like they always did. 

Odin gave one last stroke to the scar, fingers moving to carefully preen the feathers around it, finding another smaller starburst of long healed tissue. “Evroniani blaster.” Donald explained. Shot in the back shortly after he’d met Uno. 

He was pretty sure that Uno had healed him of that one, which was how Odin knew where it was. Paperinik’s uniform had started to have armour in it afterwards. Uno had seemed so smug about it, pleased like he was getting away with something under Donald’s nose, so Donald had never commented on it, amused by his friend’s delight. 

Odin hummed in response, working his way across Donald’s back with mindful fingers. He was slower than Donald was, Donald taking care of his arms and then his chest in the same time that Odin covered his upper back, fingertips lingering over the scars he found there. 

Donald had a lot of scars. The accident that took his parents, childhood mischief growing up on the farm with his Grandmother afterwards until Uncle Scrooge took him and Della in. Then there had been the adventuring, working in the navy, becoming Paperinik, raising the kids, and more adventures. 

And through it all, his bad luck and even worse temper. Both had gotten better as time went on, but he didn’t think he’d ever be entirely rid of either of them. 

There were several reasons why he wore long sleeves, and most of them had to do with preventing the questions of where he’d gotten all the marks in his skin to people who didn’t need to know. 

He struggled to remember and name all the scars that Odin found, but Donald didn’t mind telling them to Odin. He trusted his partner, and Uno had always seemed to know everything about him anyway.

And it was… kind of nice to be able to not have to make stuff up about how he’d gotten injured too. Odin traced dimples left over from a large animal bite and didn’t ask stupid questions like why he’d been around dangerous creatures. 

He finished preening everything he could reach without dislodging Odin, and relaxed into his friend’s careful touch. Odin had nice hands, all long fingered and expressive. It was one of the first things he'd noticed when they'd met, that and the green hair. It felt nice to be groomed by someone else. The last time someone had done it for him was probably Della, back when they were teenagers. 

Preening wasn’t generally a social activity. Parents did it to kids, like he’d done with his boys when they were little, and occasionally all the kids when they got older. Spouses or dating couples might. Some close friends. He and Daisy hadn’t really, other than smoothing out a feather or two for each other before she stepped on stage, or before some crazy gala. Not for any other reason than it didn’t feel right. 

The closest he’d come other than the kids was hanging out with Panchito and José, getting clean after an adventure somewhere. Donald and Panchito had started preening, taking care of their own feathers, talking about the issues of doing so as they worked. 

José was an Amazon parrot and didn’t have a preening gland. He grew feathers that turned to dust that kept his the rest of his feathers clean and dry instead, which is why he’d never dealt well with getting wet. José had thought they were both completely ridiculous with the preening oil, but had still ended up helping Panchito with his feathers. 

The last time he’d seen his friends, both with feathers that were more grey than colourful, Jose had casually reached out, touching Panchito’s preening gland and straightening a couple of the rooster’s longer tail feathers. Neither acted as if any of this was odd and Donald hadn’t said anything, quietly happy that his friends had each other. 

… He would never see them again. Hear Panchito’s loud laugh, or see Jose’s gentle smile. 

Donald had known that before, that he’d never see them again, but the loss of the other two Caballeros hit him suddenly, like a sucker punch to the chest, leaving him breathless. He’d never see Daisy, or his kids again either, nor the grandkids. Almost all of his family was gone. 

He found himself tearing up, and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, trying to stop it. “Donald?” Odin inquired, his tone gentle. 

“It’s nothing.” Donald muttered. It wasn’t like they’d died and left him behind. He should have died before the kids did, but instead he’d lived beyond them. 

He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so alone, but the grief settled hard in his chest, like a rock. 

Odin let out a thoughtful hum. “Come here?” He said, gently tugging Donald towards him. Donald went willingly, leaning against Odin’s thin chest while his friend wrapped his long limbs around Donald. “It’s not nothing.” Odin murmured, beak rubbing against the top of Donald’s head. 

“It’s silly.” Donald protested. “I cried for you and Lyla when I got back to the 21st century. I cried for Uno too. And I knew for forty years that’d I’d lose everyone else, but...” His throat closed up, unable to get the words out past an incoherent mumble.

Jose and Panchito had asked him to come with them one last time, Xandra had called them for one last adventure. He’d looked into their eyes and known they weren’t coming back, they were going out in a final blaze of glory. And he’d turned them down, knowing that he’d be unable to stand watching while they went and do nothing. 

They’d smiled and hugged him, having known his answer before they asked, but not wanting to exclude him either. 

He’d always known that he’d go when they did, but it still felt like a shock. He barely remembered driving to Daisy’s, letting her know that it was time. He’d hugged her tightly, probably too tightly for her fragile bones as she’d kissed his cheek and wished him happiness. 

He’d have to look up what happened to his kids and grandkids. They’d been healthy and well when he’d left. He’d known, they’d known, and he didn’t know why he was grieving now, but that didn’t stop the ache in his heart or the tightness in his throat as the tears slid down his beak. 

He’d always had his family to anchor him, and now he felt a bit adrift. Now he had Odin and Lyla. Uncle Scrooge was still out there, hopefully Della too, but that was wasn’t even a handful out of what had been an entire extended clan, both blood and adopted. 

Odin didn’t say anything, just hummed and held him until the tears faded and the grief in Donald’s chest loosened enough for him to breathe again. “Thanks.” He muttered, feeling embarrassed and raw. He hadn’t meant to cry all over Odin. 

“Thank _you_.” Odin corrected, his thumb rubbing small circles on Donald’s bare shoulder. “I don’t…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for doing this.” 

“You’re my friend.” Donald shrugged. There was nothing for Odin to pay back, that Donald hadn't already received in spades. “My _best_ friend. My partner. And every time we came to the future, you looked like you could use someone.” 

Odin fell silent, the worry lines and shadows under his eyes seeming to darken for a moment. He didn’t say anything, but from the tired slump of his shoulders, Donald took that to mean that he was correct and Odin didn’t want to say it. 

Donald chuckled, a dry raspy noise as Odin not-quite sulked, adjusting his grip on Donald, long fingers sliding across Donald’s feathers. 

“Um.” He cleared his throat, fighting a blush. “One sec.” Donald requested, pushing way from Odin’s chest. Odin released him, looking slightly alarmed, as if he wasn’t sure if he’d overstepped his boundaries. Donald grabbed the nightshirt still in his lap and quickly pulled it on. 

He knew Uno had seen him naked countless times, Donald changing clothing with little care for modesty after his time in the military. But he hadn’t been naked while being held by his friend at the same time before. He tugged it down over himself, then scooted back where he’d been, wrapping an arm around Odin, resting his head back on his narrow chest. 

If he hadn’t known that Odin was a robot, he would have been hard pressed to guess based off appearances. The feathers and flesh even felt right, but he could feel the differences in the skeleton structure. The lack of individual ribs in his chest, the odd raised ridges around his shoulders. They way his upper arms were too soft, lacking musculature while his lower arms were too thick and hard. 

This close he could also fee the lack of his chest rising or falling for breathing, and the lack of a pulse was a bit more obvious of a give away. Odin didn’t smell right for a biological either, there was the faint aura of ozone, metal and electricity that reminded him a bit of Ducklair Tower. 

But he was still _Odin_ , and his friend always been a little strange. 

Odin gave a soft chuckle, wrapping his long arms around Donald again, pressing his cheek to the top of Donald’s head. “You’re good at hugs.” Donald informed him. Tight enough to be comforting, without being restricting. 

“I haven’t had much practise.” Odin murmured, sounding slightly embarrassed. “And as illogical as it sounds, I find this comforting. There is a part of me that is afraid that you will vanish the moment I can no longer sense you.” 

“I feel the same.” Donald admitted, then yawned, exhaustion weighing him down again. “I’m kind of afraid to fall asleep, in case I don’t wake up. Or if this is all a dream.” 

“In the case of the former, we now know that I can definitely wake you up.” Odin said, and Donald could _hear_ the amusement in his friend’s voice. “As for the latter… I have an idea.”

“Oh?” 

“Have you finished your nightly rituals?” Odin inquired. “Teeth brushed?” 

“Not yet.” Donald shook his head. 

“I still have work to do.” Odin didn’t bother hiding his annoyance at that. “I suggest that we reconvene in a different location, where I can work and you can rest without worry of either of us vanishing.” 

It made sense. And Donald could sleep just about anywhere anyway. “Deal.” He agreed, wiggling out of Odin’s grasp. 

His friend seemed reluctant to let him go, but did so, staying in the bed and watching as Donald walked to the bathroom. Donald tried not to think about it too much, focusing on washing his face and giving his teeth a quick scrub. He did a quick preening of the areas he hadn’t been able to reach earlier due to sitting on them, then washed his hands. 

He paused and drank a quick glass of water, realising he was thirsty after that crying lag. He was a little embarrassed by it, especially in front of his friend, but his therapist had said crying was healthy. Better to get those feelings out and deal with them then let them bottle up. He felt better for the water and stepped back out. 

Odin was standing next to the door, his hair done up in a braid that draped over his shoulder, a blanket and a pillow in his hands. “Ready?” 

Donald reached up, touching the braid, the way the strands twined with each other. “I’d like to braid your hair sometime, if you’d let me.” He said, mesmerised by how the light caught the braid, shifting from bright emerald to dark inky black. Daisy would have loved it. 

“Of course.” Odin smiled, looking as if Donald had just paid him the highest of compliments. 

Donald grinned back. He was kind of fascinated by this century’s fashion of long hair on almost everyone, especially since he couldn’t grow it. Odin’s hair in particular really was striking, both the colour and the length. He’d never seen anyone else with hair like it.

“Shall we?” Odin asked, offering his hand with a playful air. Donald smiled, taking the pillow from Odin’s other hand before resting his hand on Odin’s palm. Odin blinked in surprise, then smiled, curling his fingers around Donald's. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know the layout that well.” Donald admitted. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out in little time.” Odin assured him, escorting Donald back out into the hall. The fact that Donald had plenty of time to find his way around now went unspoken between them. 

This high up, the majority of the light from Duckburg below was blocked or echoed by the clouds, turning it into a bright kind of haze. It illuminated their way without needing to turn on lights, giving the large mansion a dream-like appearance that was both soothing and not. 

“Here.” Odin said, sinking gracefully onto a thickly padded sofa opposite of what Donald recognised to be an old fashioned PV screen. He glanced at it, then back to Odin in a silent question. 

To his delight, Odin seemed to blush a little. “I… may have all of Anxieties recorded.” He muttered, slightly flustered. “It’s relaxing to put on in the background while I work.” 

“I need to catch up.” Donald commented, putting the pillow down next to Odin’s thigh, then laying down on the sofa, looking up at his friend. “I stopped watching after Uno disappeared. It wasn’t the same watching it without you.” 

And then he’d been too busy taking care of the kids to have a half hour a day to spare doing nothing but watching TV too. Kids were a lot of work. 

Odin looked delighted. “I’d love to watch it with you.” He confessed, spreading the blanket over Donald, using those long limbs of his to make sure that the blanket was not only covering Donald’s feet, but tucked in as well. Donald hadn't been tucked in a long time, and it made him feel strangely safe in a way he wasn't used to. “There’s been no one to talk to about the series.”

“Alright.” Donald grinned, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and wiggling into the pillow until he was comfortable. “It’s a date.” 

He'd missed movie nights with Uno, the two of them snarking back and forth as they watched, the heated debates and conversations they had. He'd enjoyed movie nights with Daisy, the two of them cuddled on the sofa together, but she didn't like talking during movies and it hadn't quite been the same. More petting, less snark. 

Odin blinked, a surprised expression flickering across his face for a moment before he smiled sweetly. “Agreed.”


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

The first thing Odin as soon as Donald drifted off to sleep was plug himself in to refresh his battery. There was a little bit of a vanity that prompted him to to wait until Donald was sleeping, but mostly paranoia over keeping his appearance as a biological. Being caught with long cord coming out of his hair would blow his cover for sure.

He pulled up three holographic screens, switching the colour from pale blue to neon green before starting to sort through his current messages with a flick of his fingers, his mind only partially on his tasks.

There were many oddities about his body he wished he could ask Everett about. Like why he thought an attached thick metal cord with a port on the end of it dangling off the back of Odin’s head was a wise idea. Or why his legs got thicker from the bottom of his knees, partially covering his feet, creating monstrously huge ankles. Or the reasoning why his shoulders had a thick ridge around where his arm connected to the torso. It served no feature beyond decorative as far as he could tell. 

As Odin, he’d had to make fashion choices to hide these features, such as the long flowing hair, wide-shouldered suits, and flared trousers. Which strangely, people had taken on a fashion trend. Developing a public aversion to being touched helped as well, as well as a reputation of eccentricity in general helped provide a useful cover. 

It was just the way it was, and something he didn’t usually devote much time pondering over. Except now he had someone whom he _wanted_ to touch, and be touched in return. As a synthetic lifeform, touch wasn’t as essential to his wellbeing as it was to a biological and the physical distance hadn’t bothered him at all. Except when it came to Paperinik’s infrequent visits. 

Honestly, he was slightly surprised he hadn’t given his cover away ever time Paperinik appeared in the future, the way he uncharacteristically couldn’t stop touching the masked hero. Odin had sometimes wondered if part of his partner hadn’t recognized him on some level, the way Donald didn’t seem to notice the touches, or when Odin replaced the hat on Paperinik’s head. 

Donald stirred slightly, making a grumbling noise and Odin glanced over, taking in Donald’s features by the green light of his holographic screens. Donald had changed since he had last seen the hero in ways that he had not expected. Odin was mesmerized by it, seeking out the differences. 

There were there obvious physical changes for one. Donald was no longer the young twenty-something year old duck he once had been, but had stopped aging in his mid-thirties. It had not been an easy life that Donald had lead, before or after Uno had left, and mild stress lines and weariness marked his face, making him look sharper and more dangerous, even at rest. 

Odin privately thought it made Donald look more like himself. 

Donald also seemed calmer now, carrying himself with a grounded certainty. There hadn’t been a single angry bellow since he’d awoken, and only a few outraged squawks, mostly when he’d gotten the vaccines. Odin hadn’t bothered to warn him before jabbing him with the needles, figuring it’d be easier on them all if it was a surprise. 

The scars and the abuse on Donald’s body were rather startling, he hadn’t had nearly as many when he’d been living with Uno. He was also slightly undernourished in a way that concerned Odin, Donald had been a much rounder duck previously. 

There were also traces of primitive nano-bots in his bloodstream, something that Odin wondered about. They appeared to be inert, not doing anything, and their appearance was perplexing. There was so much of Donald’s life he had missed. He’d found bits and pieces, breadcrumbs, of his partner’s life when he’d first rewoken, but not nearly enough. 

Never enough. 

There were times when Odin wondered just how much of Two’s personality traits he’d inherited from his brother. The possessiveness, the hunger for things he’d thought he could not have were not part of Uno’s original programming.

Donald made a soft growl noise in his sleep, hands curling up in to fists as he shifted restlessly, kicking one foot loose.

“You’re safe, Old Cape.” Odin murmured. Donald stilled, eyes opening a fraction before closing again, his body relaxing. Odin smiled quietly, adjusting the blanket around his feet and shoulders. Donald’s hand caught his on his shoulder, holding it there. 

‘ _Uno_.’ Donald’s thought was clear and strong, easy to read. It was quickly followed by several others. ‘ _Home/Safe/Happy_.’ Then Donald took a deep contented breath and drifted back to slumber, his thoughts turning hazy and indistinct. 

Odin’s fingers were mostly resting on the soft cotton of Donald’s night shirt, but one fingertip was resting against the flesh warmed feathers of Donald’s throat, feeling the steady beat of his heart. 

His fingertips had the most amount of physical sensors on his body, making them the most sensitive part of his body, he found the textures of Donald’s feathers fascinating. Biological feathers felt different than synthetic, there were tiny organic flaws that didn’t appear on a droid, each one subtly unique.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment, focusing on what he could _feel_. 

In 2188, Master Everett had told Uno that he had known that Uno would evolve and develop to a point that he would want a body of his own. To be able to experience the world on a personal level, to not be trapped inside the building as the tower. 

What he’d never told Master Everett was that he’d reached that point 186 years previously, shortly after having met Donald. Wanting some way to hold his friend close when he was hurting. To offer comfort and companionship, more than words and the occasional hot cup of camomile tea. 

And now, he could do so.

It was a miracle, a blessing he still didn’t know how to explain. Donald had explained it all, Greek Gods, magical elixirs that stopped the body from ageing, an immortal life span. That it meant he could still be hurt or killed, but would live for millennia. He spoke of other potions that granted eternal sleep until certain conditions were met, such as a kiss from a loved one. 

Donald had blushed and stammered a little as he’d explained that last one, and Lyla had grabbed a pillow to first hug to her chest, then scream into before excusing herself from the room. The door hadn’t quite shut before they could hear her cackling laughter from the hall.

That didn’t mean that any of Donald’s explanation _made sense_. 

Odin was a being of science and technology. He’d run every test and scan that he could think of and Donald would allow, only to come up with… Nothing. Nanites and scars aside, Donald appeared to be a completely normal duck. Who simply had stopped ageing 240 years ago, then slept for 201 of them. 

He was almost afraid to question it too deeply, for fear that Donald would vanish like mist. Which, once again, was illogical. But emotions rarely bowed to logic. 

A door opened on the floor and Donald was instantly aware. It was fascinating, feeling Donald’s mind shift from sleepy fuzziness to sharp awareness in a fraction of a second. If it wasn’t for that and the fact that he could feel Donald’s pulse pick up under his fingertips, Odin wouldn’t have been able to tell that the hero was awake. 

Lyla walked in, arms wrapped around herself. She looked surprised to see them there, eyes flickering between Odin and Donald for a moment, before looking at the mostly blank screens in front of Odin. “I thought holographic screens were usually pale blue.” 

“Blue light gives Donald nightmares.” Odin shrugged a shoulder, aware that she could see him clearly in the dim light. “Evronian Cold Flames.” He added for clarification. Green was much more familiar, and comforting to the both of them. The same colour he’d glowed as Uno. 

Technically speaking, he didn’t need the glowing screens to work, but he found he found he was more comfortable having something physical to interact with. Less like being trapped in the tower, unable to interact with much of anything. Touching the screens wasn’t much, but it was still better than doing it all from the stillness of his mind, the motions and gestures comforting. 

“Ah.” Lyla nodded. She had seen her share of Evronian victims, although it didn’t affect her the same way. Not only did she rarely dream, but the Evronian weapons that sucked all the emotions out of organic beings turning them into mindless slaves couldn’t work on her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be out here.” 

“Neither of us felt like being alone.” Odin smiled fondly. “Join us?” 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” She demurred. 

Donald curled his feet up, giving her a clear space on the far end of the sofa. “Join us, Beautiful.” Donald croaked, his voice warm and welcoming. 

Odin couldn’t help the surge of annoyance at the nickname, even as Lyla rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t be jealous.” Donald playfully scolded, reaching and arm up to run his fingers through Odin’s goatee, fingertips scratching lightly on the underside of his beak. Pleasure shot through him like an electrical jolt, sharp with unfamiliarity, followed by a warm twisting feeling low in his abdomen. 

When Donald took his hand away, Odin glared in annoyance, partly for the teasing, partly because Donald had _stopped_. The glare didn’t phase Donald at all, who smiled at him with half-lidded amusement. “You’re still the prettiest duck in the building.” Donald assured him, rough and fond. 

He wanted to still be annoyed, but it was hard to maintain it in the face of Donald’s fondness. “Sweet-Talker.” Odin chided, turning his gaze back towards his screens. Donald snickered quietly, wiggling a bit until the back of his head was resting on Odin’s thigh instead of his pillow.

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to rest his hand on top of Donald’s head and stroke the slightly longer feathers there. Donald’s eyes drooped in pleasure as he did so. 

“So.” Lyla said, looking serious. “What next?” 

“My offer for you to stay remains open, Lyla.” Odin said, looking over at her. “Is there anything you think you’d like to do?” 

If she didn’t, he could easily hire her as a bodyguard for Donald. He valued her skills at keeping Donald alive, given the amount of trouble his partner seemed to stumble into. And Donald could use anoter friend while adjusting to live in this strange century. 

“I liked being an investigative reporter.” Lyla mused, folding a leg up towards her chest, wrapping her arms around it. “Worked well for being a Time Cop too. I don’t think I could turn that curious part of me off.” 

“They missed you when you were gone.” Donald gave her a small smile. “Stephan especially. He wouldn’t let me explain what happened. Said you didn’t owe him any explanations.” 

Much to his surprise and delight, Lyla began to blush, ducking her head. Odin didn’t know the person they were talking of, but he must have been special to make Lyla look like that. “I’m going to miss him too.” She murmured. 

“We kept in touch.” Donald mused, eyes half drooping again. “Kinda. When he was willing.” 

Lyla laughed. “Yeah.” Her expression turned melancholy. “He was very good at disappearing when he wanted to.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, the knowledge that they’d never see this Stephan again sinking in. “Anyone else from Channel 00?” Lyla asked. 

Donald shook is head, giving her an apologetic look. 

“Not even Angus Fangus?” Lyla teased, and both Odin and Donald made a face at the name of the person who had done the most damage to Paperinik’s reputation. 

“No.” Donald said resolutely. “I didn’t have a lot of time for TV afterwards, and I did **not** allow him on my TV when I did.” 

Both Odin and Lyla chuckled in response. 

“You could be a reporter here, if you wanted.” Odin pointed out, mentally going through options. Her skills were more varied than the standard 5Y unit because of her experiences running with Paperinik. 

“Maybe.” Lyla tilted her head to the side, thinking about it. 

“There’s no hurry.” Odin assured her. “Take time to recover first.” It wasn’t like it was a burden to him to host either of them. His resources were vast and he found he relished the idea of being allowed to potentially pamper those close to him. 

“Thanks.” Lyla nodded, giving him a grateful smile. “What about you, Donald? Any thoughts of what you want to do?” 

“Not really?” Donald mused, several thoughts flickering through his head in rapid succession, general and vague about what kind of work he could find in this strange century. “I was focused on the getting here, not so much after. But don’t worry, I’ll find some way to be useful, I won’t mooch off you for long.” 

His thought that he didn’t want to be a burden came through loud and clear, immediately souring Odin’s mood. 

“Absolutely not.” Odin snapped, not bothering to hide his irritation. “You are not a burden. Your presence here is not dependant on how ‘useful’ you are to me. _You_ are enough.” 

Donald’s thoughts dissolved into so much static, disbelief and shock taking over. Odin wondered how many times Donald had been told that, and resolved to reenforce that fact. 

He had a feeling it much of Donald’s lack of self-preservation and low sense of self worth had something to do with being raised by his Uncle. Uno had witnessed many tirades by Scrooge McDuck on a myriad of Donald’s perceived faults. Most of them focusing on the lack of money Donald made, overlooking the multitude of Donald’s strengths over this perceived weakness. 

The fact that Scrooge’s own frugal actions, such as pulling Donald away from a steady paying job to be used as free labour on excursions around the world frequently increased Donald’s debts had not escaped Uno’s notice, even if it had missed Scrooge’s. After all, Uno and Donald had initially met because Scrooge had decided that Donald was going to be the unpaid caretaker of Ducklair Tower, regardless of what ever else Donald might have been doing. 

“The first thing you should be focusing on is recovering.” Odin informed him with a frown. It had not escaped his notice that Donald was moving stiffly, something he hoped was a temporary side effect of the long sleep and not something more permanent. “And adjusting to this century. Things are different, not just the technology.”

200 hundred years was not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it was for mortals. If someone had woken up from a 200 year old nap when they had first met, they would have missed several countries civil wars, the Industrial revolution, two World Wars, the death and birth of many nations, civil rights movements, and the dawn of the Computer age. The world was equally different now. 

“But-” Donald began to protest. 

“You were my eyes and ears outside of Ducklair Tower for years.” Odin said fiercely. Uno had been so _lonely_ before Donald crashed into his life, with all his chaos, caring, and life. “You brought the world to me. Please allow me the honour of returning the favour.” 

Donald stared at him for a long moment, and Odin could pick up the fight in his mind, the urge to be as independent as possible contrasting with Odin’s words. They glared at each other for a moment, a clash of wills. 

Donald looked away first. 

“... Only for a little while.” Donald allowed, stubbornness eched on his features. He’d follow Odin’s lead for the moment. 

“I have no doubt that you will eventually find something worthy of your abilities and time.” Odin soothed, relieved. “Just give yourself time to heal first. You have it, you might as well use it.” 

He remembered just hours before, Donald curled against his chest in grief, the loss of his family, friends, and the world he’d left behind. A few hours was not enough to recover from that. 

“What about Paperinik?” Lyla questioned, addressing the subject they’d been ignoring for hours. 

Donald gave a heavy sigh, reaching up and removing Odin’s hand from where it still rested on his head. He didn’t release it as Odin thought he might, but held on to it, idly tracing the edges of Odin’s fingers as if exploring it. 

Odin tried not to shiver, pleasure rippling through him once more, causing him to lose his focus on the conversation.. 

“I don’t know.” Donald finally admitted. “I haven’t been Paperinik for… a very long time.” 

Lyla looked confused, and Donald huffed in amusement, gesturing at her with a webbed foot. “For you, it’s been a few hours since we last spoke with me as Paperinik.” He pointed out. “For Odin, it’s been-”

“253 years, two months and three days.” Odin said quietly. He could calculate the hours and seconds, but experience had taught him that wasn’t needed. “Since the phone call that you were going to go check on Lyla.” Before he’d been been suddenly been knocked offline.

He didn’t entirely count Donald’s trips to the future, Donald hadn’t known Odin was his partner then. 

Donald nodded, accepting this. “And for me, I haven’t been Paperinik for fifty years.” Donald shrugged, tracing the sides of Odin’s fingers. It took more effort than Odin would have liked to admit to keep his mind on the discussion, rather than the tingling feeling left by Donald’s touch. “I knew becoming Paperinik again was a _possibility_ , but I’m not sure it’s the right one.”

Odin and Lyla exchanged a surprised look. “Why not?” Lyla voiced the question for both of them. 

“Paperinik is very good at solving things by hitting them.” Donald said, brows coming down in a thoughtful and fierce expression. “But it seemed like a lot of the problems in the 23rd century require more of a delicate touch.” 

Odin found himself slightly taken back. Donald had never been stupid, far from it, but he had tended to run towards ‘sneaking’ followed by ‘hit them hard’ as his main modes of thinking. Fifty years had truly matured his friend. 

“Should that scenario ever arise, we would need to outfit you again once more.” Odin mused, making a mental inventory of how many of Everett Ducklair’s inventions he had saved and hidden away. Not many, Odin having personally destroyed many of them through the years, unable to find a way to de-weaponise his creator’s inventions. 

“I left the X-transformer shield with my friend the Goddess Selene, just in case.” Donald offered. “She hid it away for me, and Ithaquack is hard to find unless you’ve been there before.” 

“Isn’t Selene and Ithaquack a myth?” Lyla offered, looking slightly confused.

Donald grinned. Which meant that it was yet another illogical thing that was probably true. Odin made a mental note to clear a few days in his schedule to visit Ithaquack with Donald at some point in the near future. 

How did one travel to the home of Gods-? He would have to get more details later. 

Donald turned Odin’s hand, pressing the heels of their palms together. Donald’s hand was so much smaller than his. Even with Donald’s fingers spread wide, he couldn’t quite reach the edges of Odin’s palm. Donald made a thoughtful sound, then started tracing the lines on Odin’s palm with a contented expression. 

“Would your Uncle have anything?” Lyla asked. 

Donald glanced at her, then shook his head, eyelids starting to droop a bit, tracing the curve around the base of Odin’s thumb. His lifeline, if palmistry was to be believed. “Uncle Scrooge may have suspected who Paperink was, but he never said anything about it. Daisy figured it out though.” 

The gentle pride in Donald’s voice at Daisy’s accomplishment made Odin rankle just a little bit. It was illogical, he acknowledged it was illogical, but that didn’t stop the hot churning feeling in his circuitry. 

“Your Uncle was the one to contact us about where to find you.” Odin said quietly, forcing his mind from the swirl of emotions. 

“Hmm.” Donald hummed thoughtfully, his eyelids starting to droop a little. “He never did tell me how he arranged to wake me up.” 

“Phone call.” Lyla informed him cheerfully, and Donald huffed in amusement. 

“Simplest way.” Donald agreed, rubbing a few of Odin’s feathers the wrong way, then smoothing them out. “You have nice feathers.” He murmured, clearly starting to fall asleep again. 

“If you are open to it, you are welcome to assist me in preening sometime.” Odin offered.

Donald glanced up at him, suddenly more awake. With a suspicious air, he glanced at Lyla, who had her beak clamped tightly shut. “I thought synthetic feathers didn’t need preening-?” Donald hesitantly ventured, as if sensing a trap. 

“They don’t.” Odin verified. “But I enjoyed preening you, and thought it might be enjoyable for us both the other way around as well.” 

‘Enjoyed’ was a paltry word to explain the feel of Donald, alive and present, under his hands. Given a chance, he would not relinquish contact with his friend any time soon. 

Lyla choked, clapping her hands over her bill. Odin shot her a dark look and she gave him a broad mischievous grin. “Did you just invite him to grope you?” she mouthed at him, making little grabby gestures. Odin gestured with his free hand for her to shut it. 

“I’d like that.” Donald admitted, ignoring them both. Either on purpose or by ignorance, Odin was not sure, and Lyla laughed silently, her shoulders shaking. 

Donald gave a soft sigh, his thoughts going all soft and indistinct once more. “Sleep.” Odin urged. “We can talk later.” 

“Mmm-hmm.” Donald agreed, eyelids drooping. He had yet to release Odin’s hand, which rested against his chest, heartbeat pulsing against Odin’s palm.

“May I stay here-?” Lyla asked, looking vulnerable. 

“It’s fine.” Donald yawned, wiggling his shoulders as he started to drift off again, still using Odin’s leg as a pillow. “Neither of you move much.” 

That sounded like there was a story there, one that Odin made a note to inquire about later. He found himself smiling slightly as Donald drifted off to sleep, protected on either side by his friends. 

Lyla turned sideways, leaning against the back of the sofa, eyelids drooping as she went into sleep mode to recharge. After several minutes, her eyes shut completely and didn’t open again. True to Donald’s observation, she didn’t move. 

Odin watched the two of them with a fond look, an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. Mere hours ago he’d looked to the future, seeing nothing but bleary solitude stretching out in front. Now he had the companionship of not just one dear friend, but a second friend as well. 

He turned his attention towards his screens, pulling up some schematics to work on. Progress marched ever onward, and Odin liked to be ahead of it. Using his free hand, he tapped at the screens, composing messages and taking advantage of the quiet to get work done. 

At least not until a loud noise interrupted the silence of the night. A loud noise, like a sudden chainsaw. 

“Donald.” Odin sighed, rolling his friend over on his side. “You’re snoring.” 

Donald grunted in response, then settled back down to sleep, still holding on to Odin’s hand. 

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted in honour of the '2 weeks of PK' event happening on tumblr right now:  
> <https://chessdance.tumblr.com/post/627889988061822976/2-weeks-of-pk-the-last-14-days-of-september-shall>  
> I also posted a meta on Odin's clothing on my tumblr for today's prompt of 'Cozy Outfit', and to explain my thought process on why Odin has a power cord stuck to the back of his head.   
> <https://ickaimp.tumblr.com/post/630434841754746880/2-weeks-of-pk-odins-cozy-outfit>


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

“I need a mission.” Donald said, staring up that the horizon above him, so different from what he was used to. 

Duckburg was still Duckburg, but it wasn’t at the same time. He recognized the streets, the layout had barely changed. But almost all of the buildings were gone. The people were different, the fashions were different, even the manners were different, having to adjust for the changes in technology and environment. 

“A mission?” Lyla inquired, sitting next to him. She’d pulled him out of the rush of people, where he could sit for a moment on a low ledge and breathe, try to keep everything from being so overwhelming. 

The last thing he needed was a panic attack, or another crying lag out here in the open. 

“Previously, when I was here, I had a mission. Something to focus on and accomplish.” Donald raised a hand into a fist, mimicking punching something. Lyla nodded, following his train of thought. He'd always been here as Paperinik, never as Donald. “The changes didn’t seem so big then. Sure the cars flew, but they were cars. Got us from point A to point B. But now…”

He trailed off with a shrug. 

He was a very small duck in the future, and he was kind of scared. Odin’s insistance that Donald take time to adjust made more sense now, but it still left him at loose ends with no focus or goal other than be here, which was a foregin concept to him. There were usually always things for him to do. 

“I get it.” Lyla nodded, her own shoulders slumping slightly. 

“Do you have have plans?” Donald asked, leaning forward to peer at her. He took a moment to soak up her presence, he’d missed her as well. 

“Technically, I’ve been hired on to be your ambassador and bodyguard.” Lyla gave him a small smile. “Since I’m probably the only other person who has experience with both your past and the present.” 

“Is that…” Donald hesitated. Lyla had so many skills and talents, it seemed like a waste of them just to wander around with him. “You don’t have to stick with me if you don’t want to.” He offered. He could figure things out. 

“I’d do it anyway.” A corner of Lyla’s beak curved up with a fond expression. “You’re my friend. And this way I get paid for it.”

Donald nodded. He had similar jobs in the past, things he would have done for free, but friendship didn’t pay the bills. “Thanks.” He said gratefully.

“Odin would have hired me on doing something anyway.” Lyla admitted, looking up at the sky, towards the Eidolon Industries tower that loomed over Duckburg. “I know who he is, it’s only logical for him to keep me close. And it puts in me in a better position than most of the other 5Y units.” 

“How so?” Donald asked, both curious and relieved to have something other than himself to focus on. 

“The Time Agency is closed.” Lyla shrugged a shoulder. “And the majority of 5Y units were Time Agents. With the Droid Bill of Rights meaning that they can’t decommission us now that we’re not useful to the agency, suddenly we all have to find not work, but housing too as they’re decommissioning the buildings.” 

“I don’t suppose savings are a thing in the future-?” Donald ventured. 

Lyla gave him a dry look. “That would imply we got paid.”

“WHAT?” Donald exclaimed, then clamped his beak shut, glancing around at the crowds of people going past. A few looked in their direction, but lost interest when more shouting didn’t happen. 

“Before Odin pushed through the Droid Bill of Rights two years ago, Droids didn’t _have_ to be paid.” Lyla explained. “People or companies would commission a Droid, and the Droid would work for them until they couldn’t anymore, in which case the Droid would be dismantled and used for scrap.”

Donald swallowed, horror twisting in his gut. He hadn’t realised it was quite that bad for Droids. He’d understood some of it, when Lyla had shot another Time Agent by accident, and would have been deleted entirely if the newly passed Bill of Rights hadn’t protected her from it.

“After the bill was passed, by law we had to be treated just as any other organic would, which includes being paid.” Lyla smiled, but it was bitter. “That didn’t mean we got back pay, or that we had to be paid _well_.” 

And as Donald knew from first hand experience, minimum wage didn’t always equal a _living_ wage. And sometimes people would figure out ways to weasel out of that as well. 

Donald put a hand on her wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze before pulling back. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly. 

“You didn’t know.” Lyla said kindly. Which was true, because Donald was mostly unfamiliar with Droid history and the 23rd century, but it felt like a bit like a dismissal as well. 

Donald hummed, mulling it over. Lyla let him be, lost in her own thoughts, or communications. It was hard to tell sometimes. 

When he’d learned that Lyla was a droid from the future, he’d honestly been a bit excited, hope that the future was a better place than the then-present was. Lyla being synthetic didn’t bother him any more than Uno being the tower did, they were his friends. And that was the important part. 

Except now it seemed that while their being friends was important, so was the fact that they were made of something other than flesh and bone. They had vastly different experiences and opportunities because of that. 

He was starting to understand a bit more why Odin had hid that he had been Uno. He wouldn’t have been a someone with the rights of a person, he would have been property. 

Donald’s stomach rolled at the thought, making him feel sick. 

Gina’s fight for droid freedom suddenly made a lot more sense. He’d thought it was strange at the time, but clearly there was a lot of gaps in the information he had. He thought he’d been honouring her wishes when he’d kept them from recycling her body, downloading another mind and personality into it, but now he wasn’t sure. 

“Hey Lyla?” He asked, and she blinked, turning to focus on him. “Do you have any reading you can recommend?” 

“About the 23rd century?” She asked, looking curious. 

He shook his head. “Droids History and Rights.” Donald clarified. She was right, there was a lot he didn’t know, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn. “I could use your help. If you’re willing.” 

She and Odin would know it best, although he didn’t want to bother Odin with it until he had more information and understanding. And he couldn’t download the information like his friends could, he had to do it the slow way. 

“Of course.” Lyla looked annoyed that he’d even imply that she wouldn’t help with this. She paused, then huffed softly in amusement. “‘Friend of the Droids’, huh?” She drawled, dryly sarcastic. 

Donald shrugged, hopping off the low ledge. He’d never understood that moniker, but he was starting to think there was some weight to it that he was missing. “Why wouldn’t anyone not want to be friends with droids?” He asked. “You’re pretty awesome.” 

They were. Odin and Lyla were not only amazing people, but amazing friends as well, and he was honoured to be able to call them that. 

Lyla laughed, folding her hands behind her back as they walked, a familiar gesture, and one she usually only did when she was comfortable. He felt better seeing it, wondering if she wasn’t feeling a little off center too, now that she didn’t have any missions.

Donald smiled to himself as they walked, side by side as they had countless times before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Have a treat!


End file.
